


Sparrow Songs

by suburbanlegend



Series: cities 'verse [2]
Category: My Chemical Romance
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-27
Updated: 2018-06-18
Packaged: 2019-05-24 19:49:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 1,478
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14961041
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/suburbanlegend/pseuds/suburbanlegend
Summary: I sat silently on the floor beside the bed, just admiring. Your face was flecked with sky and a peace I hadn't seen in days.The sunrise drifted in through the window and I pulled my knees up to my chest and leaned my head against the clean sheets you were staining the colors of spring, wishing we could just stay like this forever.





	1. August

I held you close, trying to imagine what could've been going on in that pretty little head of yours. I kissed your forehead and slid carefully away from you on the bed, praying not to wake you up. You needed this sleep so badly. You'd spent the last two days standing in your corner, refusing to sleep, only eating when I forced you to. You painted desperately, like you needed to get the pictures in your head out onto the canvas or you'd die. Your eyes were bloodshot and cloudy, wild with exhaustion.

I went over to your canvas then, wanting to know what had caused you to temporarily lose your mind. You hadn't let me look over your shoulder as you worked, and that made me even crazier, not knowing what was dragging you away from me this time.

It was a masterpiece. Your work was always beautiful, I knew that, but  _this_... It was simple, a meadow, a bright spring day with a golden sun and clear skies. The colors were all just a little wrong though, too bright, a fantastical world that couldn't quite be real. There was a single tree off to the left, bare except for a few small buds emerging alongside the picturesque spring flowers.

Nestled between the tree branches, so close their wings were brushing, almost melting into each other, were the small silhouettes of two sparrows.

I half-stumbled back to the bed, struck by the fantasy. I slid the window closed, shutting out the morning sounds of the city that would've ruined this fairy tale feeling.

I sat silently on the floor beside the bed, just admiring. Your face was flecked with sky and a peace I hadn't seen in days.

The sunrise drifted in through the window and I pulled my knees up to my chest and leaned my head against the clean sheets you were staining the colors of spring, wishing we could just stay like this forever.


	2. December

I could barely wait until I was back in my dorm room to open the package. My uncle had been psyching me up for days now, insisting that I was going to love my Christmas present. The parcel had only my name on it, no outgoing or return addresses, and I was thrilled by that alone, because it had to mean he'd finally come down from the city for a visit if he was personally delivering packages to my mailbox.

I felt a little guilty, because it wasn't actually Christmas yet, but I figured the package didn't have any real proof it was from him, so opening it early was technically not my fault.

I tore open the brown parcel paper excitedly, and then could only stare.

It was the meadow. It was the meadow from August. I'd recognize it anywhere.

But the beautiful spring was gone. The green of the grass and the blue of the sky had faded into stark shades of white. The flowers were gone, and a black hole bled grey sunlight out over the world. The tree's small blossoms were missing, the lines of the branches thinner, sharper, dying. One of the sparrows had taken flight, a shadow breaking free of its cage.

But the other sparrow was still huddled in the tree, alone now. Its silhouette had faded into a dark gray, its edges blurred and disappearing.

Your name wasn't anywhere, but it couldn't have been from anyone else. I couldn't breathe.


	3. April

You had spent the last week or so spending all your time working on extra credit for your sculpture class. Well, that's what you had told me you were doing. Every time I asked you what you were up to, you seemed at a loss for words and started blushing suspiciously. I was starting to get worried.

But then one day you came home with a package wrapped in the comics section of a newspaper trying to hide behind your back. There was a neon green bow taped to it, and a technicolor smile on your face.

"Whatcha got there?" I'd asked, feigning vague disinterest.

"Oh, nothing," you lied casually with fake innocence. You stepped closer to me, and then practically shoved the package into my hands, beaming as you exclaimed, "Happy birthday!"

I took it with a shocked expression, and barely managed a "Thanks," before I was tearing excitedly at the newspaper.

It was the meadow. The colors were back, but they weren't nearly as bright as bright as before, muted, like you were still hesitant to add them.

The flowers had returned, scattered little buds that had yet to bloom. The sun looked like it was starting to sink as it cast out soft light. Even with the restraint in color, there was a dim glow around everything. It reminded me of a gentler version of the first painting and its surrealism.

The first sparrow was still in flight, but the second had finally taken off. It was finally whole again as it tried to catch up, following faithfully across the canvas to some yet to be found fantasy.

I managed to pull myself back together, and finally tore my eyes from the painting to look at you. You were watching my reaction, nervously chewing on your nails a little. When I met your gaze, you asked hesitantly, "So, you like it?"

"Like it? It's beautiful!" I cried. You looked almost relieved, and I couldn't help smirking as I continued, "But, you do know my birthday's in  _October_. Right?"

Your face went slack and you looked almost horrified. It was adorable. You swallowed and said weakly, "I didn't say happy birthday. I said happy  _half_ -birthday."

I bit my lip to keep from laughing in your face and nodded, muttering mocking agreement as you blushed hard. You were starting to look nervous again, and a little upset, so I put my arms around your shoulders and tucked my face into your neck.

"It really is beautiful, though," I said softly. "I love- I love it."

I prayed you would hear what I couldn't quite bring myself to say. When you pulled me closer and murmured, "Happy half-birthday," I was pretty sure you had.


	4. July

You wouldn't show me your new painting, saying that it was going to be a surprise. I begged, and pleaded, and used my best sad puppy eyes, but you stuck to your guns, insisting that I had to wait until the art show at the end of the month.

I couldn't help trying to peek, and you ended up taking it down to your mother's house for the last week before the show so I wouldn't get the chance.

Finally, July was almost over, and we were in our best clothes on our way to your premier. You insisted on looking at every other piece in the gallery first, torturing me. When I announced that I was just going to go find your work without you, you grabbed my hand and refused to let go, even when I promised not to run off with my fingers crossed behind my back.

When we'd finally looked at everything else in the show, you led me to the back of the gallery. You had a wall all to yourself, with a little plaque that had your name above  _'The Summer of the Sparrows.'_

The first three paintings I knew like the back of my hand. They were displayed in the order you had painted them: August, December, April. Side by side, the contrasts between them were even more striking. As much as I wanted to admire them all over again, I was more interested in the fourth painting, the one I hadn't been allowed to see.

It was our meadow. It looked like spring again, maybe summer. But the colors weren't so bright and surreal anymore; they were faded, familiar, comfortable.

It was almost a mirror image of the first meadow, and I felt like we'd stepped through the looking glass.

The sparrows had found another tree. There was real life in this painting, leaves and buds flowering like late spring. A small nest was built against the trunk of the tree, stacked twigs looking haphazard but somehow holding together.

The sparrows were tucked together on the tree branch, so close the silhouettes of their feathers were melting together. It was impossible to tell where one ended and the other began.

Out on the horizon, the sun was finally setting on the sparrows. It should've looked cliche, for the story of the sparrows to end on a sunset, but it didn't. There were new shadows around the tree, some ominous and striking, but even those couldn't hold a candle to the beauty of the new perspective the soft red light threw over the world.

And in that moment, everything else disappeared. It was just me, and you, and our summer.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wrote this one for my hs creative writing class too, but also because the ending to the first one depressed the hell outta me and I wanted to try to fix things for them.


End file.
